


130 Miles per Hour

by rocknrolljunkie989



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocknrolljunkie989/pseuds/rocknrolljunkie989
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes the danger of a car going 130 miles per hour for Dean to feel in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	130 Miles per Hour

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only in season 3 of Supernatural, so forgive me if I have any details wrong.
> 
> It's also kind of my own personal headcanon that Dean street races when he gets really desperate for money. Sam hates it.

It takes the danger of a car going 130 miles per hour for Dean to feel in control.

He's gripping the wheel of the '67 Impala so tight that his knuckles are turning white. Not many people catch a glimpse of the car tonight; its shiny black paint blends into a mere streak across the dark horizon. The only evidence that it's even there is the doppler effect its mufflers tear into the peace.

There's a car next to them. Challenging them. First person to make it into the next town wins. Dean's got all his money on this race, even though Sam had tried to stop him from making the bet. And now he's sitting in the passenger seat, white as a ghost and muttering about how crazy Dean is, how they're going to crash and die or get arrested or just simply lose all the money they have to their name.

Dean ignores him. His eyes are trained intensely in front of him in that way that lets you know something is deeply, painfully _wrong_. The Impala's eating all the gas like a ravenous animal, and Dean's pretty sure he just saw a shadow in the cornfield next to them. If that's a deer, they're going to be so _fucked._

Sam is terrified. He's alternately gripping the edge of the seat, the seat belt, and the door. He's seen Dean in a lot of low places, but it's been a long time since his brother has been this deeply concentrated on his own self-loathing. Anyone who looks at him can see it burning in the depths of his eyes.

He drives fast for a reason. He's trying to outrun his pain, his hate, his anger, and, most of all, his failure. Def Leppard rips through the speakers and drowns out every thought in his mind, but the roar of the engine that still cuts through everything. It's like a little slice of reality.

But no matter how fast he drives, nothing is ever fixed. Nothing is changed. But it serves as a temporary solution to his problems. If he acts like they don't exist, then he's not forced to think about them. After all, he can't really think of much when the speedometer is telling him he's got the car screaming into the dangerous territory that constitutes anything over 100 miles per hour for most people. He's got more important things to think about. That's when he can ignore the other matters on his mind. When one simple twitch of the steering wheel can send him crashing to his death.

Dean isn't one for introspection, nor is he one to ponder the underlying philosophical and psychological reasons why he does things. All he knows it that it's nice to have a little bit of danger that he can actually _control_. He can kill demons, he can banish spirits, but that's the way things are. It's the way things have always been. Death is a part of the job. He can die, Sam can die, but that's _different_. Things like that are, for the most part, out of his control. He'll blame himself, but when looked at from an objective point of view, it really wouldn't be his fault.

But give him a fast car, and things change. He's got life in his hands, and it's up to him whether those lives continue or end. It's up to him how fast he goes, how crazy he drives. Dean likes it. The danger makes his heart race in a way that nothing else can. The tension builds in the pit of his stomach, and he won't even realize it until he stops the car and lets go of the wheel to find that his fingertips are trembling.

It's fucked up, sure, but Dean's got his way of dealing with things. He terrifies Sam when he gets in a mood like this. It's not that his brother doesn't trust him, it's that he doesn't trust the other drivers. It's that he doesn't trust the reliability of a car that can fall to pieces over something as simple as a nail in the tire.

The lights of the town appear up ahead. The '65 Mustang that they're up against is trailing behind. Dean's eyes are trained forward, not concerned about anything but making it there. The gas gauge is in the red; they're running on empty and Dean doesn't know if they're going to make it or not.

"Dean, watch out!"

An animal cuts in front of the car. Dean slams on the brakes automatically, the Impala turns sideways, and they begin to lose control. Dean's got his hands on the wheel, trying to guide the car out of its terrifying fishtail, trying to keep it away from the ditch. His heart is pounding in his ears and suddenly he realizes that Sam's eyes are wide with fear as he shouts nonesense at Dean, at the animal, at the car, at _everything_.

Tires scream as they make a few 360 degree turns. They finally stop, just in time to see the Mustang brake next to them. The driver is furious.

The Impala is inside the city limits. They win the money the other driver had bet against them.

Sam is laughing, and it's a little bit hysterical. Dean realizes he could have just killed his little brother, and a quick wave guilt washes over him.

They're $5000 richer. It's hard to feel bad when he's got a stack of money in his hands.

"We are never doing that again," Sam breathes out, his chest heaving. "Please promise me you're never going to do that again."

Dean feels weak at the knees, but he grins at his brother anyway. It's the first _real_ smile he's given in weeks. He could have just died, and he feels a little better at having cheated death once again. Not that he really would have minded crashing and burning. It was a nice way to go out. Better than being killed by some fucking supernatural creature, anyway.

He won't make Sam the promise. If his little brother knew how many times he raced the Imapala for a quick hit of cash, Sam would have killed Dean himself. The only reason he even brought him along was because the opportunity had presented itself, and there was no time to keep Sam in the dark.

"Let's go get something to eat, huh?" he asks instead.

A few hours later, with a full gas tank and full stomachs, they crawl into their respective beds at a cheap motel. Sam's finally stopped looking at Dean with those wary eyes that make Dean feel even more guilty about what he did. At the restaurant, Dean slipped back into their usual brotherly cameraderie, and Sam stopped being so worried.

The after-effects of the shock put Sam right to sleep. Dean stays awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. His body isn't trembling in fear anymore, and the angry, worried thoughts start to worm their way back into his brain. The black hole in his chest is there again, sucking up every possibility of feeling good tonight. He had thought that maybe, if he gave in to the race, he'd feel better, at least until the morning.

This inclination to danger has become an addiction. And he's become so immune to its effects that he's already itching for another hit. Life feels so stagnant when he's not pressing the pedal of his car to the floor and watching the spedometer needle creep up as he accelerates.

It takes 130 miles per hour for Dean to forget that he's a failure.

It takes 130 miles per hour for Dean to truly feel _alive_.

He's ready to get back behind the wheel.


End file.
